Cupid's Arrow
by BitShifter
Summary: Steed is pursued. Emma won't be denied.
1. A Simple Task

**"Cupid's Arrow"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

_The twelfth in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

**Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

**April 1965**

_Steed is pursued. Emma won't be denied._

Emma peered casually over the fur collar of her light spring coat as the Bentley rocketed down the M4 at nearly one hundred miles per hour. She watched Steed guide the car with one hand, the gusts over the windscreen ruffling his dark hair. Truth be told, he was a fine driver, though perhaps not as good as herself; and the antique racer was a fine car, though perhaps not as good as her Elan. Mile markers flashed past on the side.

"Careful," she teased. "I was almost able to read that sign."

"It wasn't important," Steed said jovially. "Something about a maximum recommended velocity."

"Which you interpreted as a _minimum_, no doubt."

He patted the dashboard lovingly. "This car was quite the competitor back in the day."

"We're not in the _24 Heures du Mans_," Emma remarked. "You'd best be mindful of your crankshaft."

"Your concern for my equipment is appreciated," Steed grinned. "You want to make it to Swansea by dinnertime, don't you?"

"Yes, but in one piece," she chided.

"So what is this egghead get-together tomorrow?"

She ignored the barb. "Rita's hosting a medical symposium on pharmaceutical prospects of the Amazon Basin."

Steed decelerated as they approached some slower traffic. "The things I remember most from the Amazon were bugs, not drugs," he quipped, "and crooks, not books."

Emma carefully noted his reaction. Rita Fox was now the Research Chair at the University of Wales in Swansea, but before that, she had been the librarian at the Ministry of Defence who assisted Steed last summer. Emma had been looking for Peter's plane in the Amazon when she first met Rita and Steed, supposedly while they were on the trail of some gun-runners. She suspected that the relationship between the two had been more than just government work.

"It's not going to be awkward, seeing her again?" she ventured tactfully.

"Of course not. Rita's one of my favorite people," Steed answered. "Smart as a whip."

Emma noticed he didn't call her Miss Fox. "When she asked me to co-author a literature survey with her for _The Lancet_, I just couldn't say no. After all, she did help me out of a jam back in the jungle." Emma gave Steed a warm glance. "You both did."

"When you two start talking science, I feel like such a dim-wit," Steed confessed. "Honestly, I don't know how you both put up with me."

Emma smiled genuinely. "Nonsense. We'll still be tending to you when you're old and gray."

"In that case, it's nice to be patronized."

"Just me, Rita, and the two blondes," she added cattily.

"How do you know about the blondes?"

"You mentioned them in Paris."

"Unlikely they'll ever be nursing me," Steed offered. "One of them is living in the Colonies; the other is probably singing on a boat somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic."

"'The Colonies'? If you mean America, why don't you say 'America'?"

"Like any good Imperialist, I've never forgiven them for that Tea Party." Steed once again floored the accelerator as the other cars let him pass.

"You have other qualities beside your intellect," Emma added breezily. "And you're actually quite clever in a pinch."

Steed looked at her and smiled. "Pinch me and see."

-oOo-

The luxurious office was paneled in mahogany; the walls were lined with bookshelves. At a desk in the center of the room, a woman was bent in concentration over an IBM Selectric, rapidly typing away. She had fiery red-auburn hair that was held in place by two cloisonné clips. A knock sounded at the door.

"Enter," she called without looking up. Another woman walked in with a businesslike stride, her footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

The redhead displayed a look of irritation in response to the intrusion, but she didn't take her eyes off her work. "I'm giving a lecture at a very important symposium tomorrow, so please get to the point quickly," she said brusquely.

"Miss Fox? Miss Rita Fox?"

"Doctor Fox." Rita looked up for the first time to assess the visitor. The woman was barely twenty, with short, dark hair that was so immaculately coiffed it might be a wig. She wore a plain blue miniskirt with thigh-high stockings in a complementary robin's egg color. Her ample chest strained against a white satin blouse.

"I'm from the Ministry," the stranger explained.

"What Ministry?"

"_The_ Ministry. The one that secured you this position here."

Rita sniffed haughtily. "I am beholden to no one. I achieved this position by dint of my expertise in the field of library science."

"Is that what you think, Dr. Fox?" The visitor's eyes showed amusement, but she remained respectful. Her next question came from the blue.

"How's your Russian?"

"I specialize in European languages, but I can converse adequately in Russian," Rita answered. "Why does that matter?"

The woman took a tentative step closer. "The Ministry is creating a training facility here in Swansea. We want you to instruct, and occasionally participate." She came to a stop against the desk. "Are you familiar with Marina Irinova, the Russian Olympic swimmer?"

Rita frowned. "She's staying in my flat with me, as a favor to a friend. What is she to you?"

The dark-haired woman nodded evenly. "We knew she was with you. The Ministry has given her asylum. In return, she will help you teach Russian."

"Teach to _whom?_"

"The academy here will be for women agents only. Far from the distractions of London."

"By distractions, you mean 'fun' and 'men'," Rita pointed out.

"Yes," the young woman replied. "Mother thought it would be best."

"Mother?"

"That's his code name."

"_His?_" Rita offered. "Mother is a man?"

"The name is symbolic."

"Do we have code names?"

"Yes," the visitor continued matter-of-factly. "We're to be his Angels." She sat on the corner of the desk.

"Mother's Angels." Rita purposely jostled the desk to send the visitor back to her feet. "Just the three of us?"

"Yes; you, Marina, and I."

"And just who the devil are you?"

"My name is Tara," she answered with a smile. "Tara King."

-oOo-

The limousine deposited Ambassador Sergei Brodny on the front steps of a sprawling manor house near the outskirts of London. The diplomat raised the lapels of his expensive wool coat to fend off the morning chill. He had been summoned here by no less than General Anatol Gogol, Chairman of the KGB, to a location used only by the top operatives of the Secret Police, like Colonel Psev. It could not be a good thing.

Brodny was shown into a back room that had been set up as a makeshift lab. He had never met the head of the KGB before, but one look at the familiar sword and shield emblem in the center of the man's cap was sufficient to alert him that he was in the presence of one of the most powerful and feared leaders of the Soviet Union. Brodny effusively shook the hand that was offered to him.

"How is it that you are able to visit this lovely city of London unnoticed, great leader?"

Gogol arched his eyebrows. "We have our ways. I can come and go as I please. Surely, you didn't think that you were out of our reach just because you dine with the capitalists?"

Brodny shifted uncomfortably and tried to change the subject. "How are things with the _Komitet_?" he asked timidly.

The KGB head ignored the question. "We know exactly what you are doing here, _pasol,_" he continued smugly. "Where you go, who you talk to, how much money you receive. You are afraid of me, perhaps?"

The ambassador broke down. "Terrified! Please, _tovarisch_, do not send me to the gulag!"

The chairman smiled evilly. "I intend nothing of the sort, dear Brodny. It is only your guilty conscience that betrays you. I have called you here for a small demonstration." Gogol whipped a cloth off an oblong shape on the table in front of them.

Two white mice were scampering in a cage. The head of the KGB put his hand in and carefully goaded them onto separate sides, lowering a partition between them. Then he picked up a nearby gas cylinder and displayed it to the ambassador.

"Oxygen compounds can have a significant effect upon mammalian physiology," Gogol began. "You have heard of carbon monoxide?"

Brodny nodded. "A deadly poison."

"And perhaps, dinitrogen monoxide? Also known as nitrous oxide."

"Laughing gas?" Brodny looked nervously at the metal cylinder that Gogol now held.

"They both have something in common," the KGB chairman said. "They belong to a family of compounds that are more readily absorbed by the bloodstream than the oxygen in the air. And then there is _this_." Gogol twisted the valve on the canister and watched with relish as Brodny's eyes widened in panic. A low hissing noise filled the room.

Brodny fidgeted nervously. "Shouldn't we be wearing gas masks, greatest leader?"

"I cannot be affected by the gas," Gogol replied casually, grinning at the ambassador's discomfiture. After a few seconds, when he judged that Brodny had suffered enough anxiety, he added, "Nor can you."

The substance was causing a marked reaction in one of the mice. It started hopping frantically around its side of the cage. Gogol reached down and removed the partition. The agitated rodent immediately lunged for its cage-mate, beginning a circular pursuit around the outer boundaries of the confined space.

"What do you see, Brodny?"

The ambassador moved closer with interest. "The one mouse has become most aggressive! He looks as if he will not stop until he catches the other mouse."

"Not he," Gogol smiled. "She."

Aided by the superior stamina imparted by the chemical, the energetic female mouse leaped onto the male and wrestled him down onto the cedar shavings. He landed on his back with his legs splayed. She was immediately on top of him, running her nose over his body, licking the fur on his abdomen. The male mouse surrendered to her attentions, eventually twitching and rocking with ecstasy. Seeing that the male was finally helpless and under her control, she used her paws to flip him back over prone. Brodny almost imagined he saw a smirk on the female's face as she maneuvered herself directly beneath the male, into the classic rodent mating position.

"But... what is she doing?"

"You are correct, dear Brodny. She is mad with lust." He threw the cloth back over the cage to give the coupling animals some privacy. "The gas I exposed her to is called Aphrodisiox."

"Aphrodisiox? What is it, some sort of love potion?"

"More like a sex potion," Gogol said smoothly.

"And it only works on mice?" Brodny asked.

"No, you idiot. Pay attention! It only works on _women._ What use would it be to us if it only worked on mice?" He calmed for a moment before continuing. "The gas significantly increases the sexual drive while decreasing any psychological inhibitions."

"I see," said Brodny, not seeing at all.

Gogol shook his head at the ambassador's thickness. "During the throes of passion," he explained, "the woman is totally compliant. She will tell anything, without restriction."

As if on cue, a loud, ecstatic chittering came from the cage to emphasize his point. The chairman continued.

"But the best side effect is short term memory loss—complete amnesia from a minute or two before the time of exposure. The victim doesn't even know she's given up vital information."

Enlightenment finally dawned on Brodny. "How long does it last?"

"Only about an hour from the time it enters the bloodstream. Enough time for a quick cuddle or two."

"If the British ever got hold of this..."

"They invented it. We managed to smuggle the formula out several years ago," Gogol replied. "Unfortunately, it is not very useful, since most of their agents are men. But we have just received intelligence that they are opening a training facility in Wales strictly for women."

A lascivious grin spread across Brodny's face. "Now I understand your plan, comrade. I give this to the women at the spy school, and they will all want to go to bed with me!"

Gogol shook his head and sighed in annoyance. "It's not a magic bullet, Brodny. The woman must already be attracted to you." He looked scornfully at the bald head and thinning sides of the man in front of him. "And it's hard to imagine that will ever be the case."

"So how can we use it?"

"There's one man that every British woman seems to be attracted to. The Perfect English Gentleman."

Brodny's face lit up. "You must mean John Steed."

Gogol nodded. "Of course."

"How can we get him to work for us?"

"We don't need John Steed; we just need someone who looks like him."

"Where would you find such a man?"

The door to the lab swung open slowly with a dramatic creak. A shadowed figure stepped into the room. The silhouette showed a man dressed in a custom-tailored suit with a bowler hat. As he emerged into the light, Brodny could see the vacuous ice-blue eyes.

"Squadron Leader Peel!" he whispered in awe. "I thought you were killed in the crash!"

"His real name is Pyotr Pehlovich; he is one of the sleeper agents that we sent into England as a child," the chairman explained. "And you must admit, he looks remarkably like Steed."

Brodny noticed beads of sweat on Peel's forehead and a slight tremor in his movements. "Are you ill?" he asked the pilot.

"He is still getting used to the warmth here," Gogol replied.

"But it is not yet summer. The spring has been fairly cool."

The figure finally spoke. "A balmy eighty degrees warmer than the Northern wastes of the Kamchatka," Pehlovich said impassively.

Now it was Brodny's turn to tremble. "You have been in... Si— Si—"

"Siberia," Pyotr finished. "Gulag. For three months. But I'm back now."

The ambassador was once again on the verge of breaking down. "What is it that you want me to do?"

Gogol smiled. "You will go to Swansea with Pyotr. You will expose the women there to the gas. Pyotr will then seduce them and elicit information about the school. Any woman who is attracted to Steed should also be attracted to him, due to the physical similarity. He does not have to be perfectly like Steed, because the Aphrodisiox drives all rationality from their mind; they can only think of making love. Afterward, they will have no memory of it." Gogol handed Brodny a thin stainless-steel cylinder with a valve and short nozzle. "The system is foolproof. It can even be used on his wife, Emma, since she will never remember later that she has seen her husband alive."

"Do you think it is wise, comrades, to use this substance on the beautiful Mrs. Peel?" the ambassador ventured.

"I have secretly used it on her many times before," Pehlovich said. "My Emma is not naturally a very affectionate woman, so she needs help."

"But your wife," Brodny said glibly, "seems to be most affectionate with Steed—"

Gogol interrupted, "Please do not mention that ever again, dear Brodny. It is a very sore subject with Pyotr."

The ambassador looked confused. "So Mrs. Peel will be at the spy school?"

Pehlovich nodded. "Emma is on her way to Swansea for a 'medical conference.' Undoubtedly that is a cover story, and she will be involved with this new training facility. Steed must have sweet-talked her into working for the Ministry."

"Will Steed be with her?"

"Surely not; but one never knows."

"But they are always together," Brodny protested innocently. "At dinner parties, horse races, Crufts..."

Gogol cleared his throat as he saw the anger rise in Pehlovich. "Go", the KGB head ordered Brodny. "Wait for us in the entryway." The ambassador left the room.

Pehlovich pulled the chairman aside. "Does he know about my identity as The Ladja?"

Gogol shook his head. "Until this moment, he only knew you as Peter Peel. He has no clue about your activities with us."

"Are you sure he is up to the task?"

"He only needs to spray some gas into a woman's face. Even an idiot could accomplish that," the chairman offered. "Besides, as our ambassador, he is partially trusted, or at least considered harmless, by all of the Ministry employees."

A fiery look filled Pehlovich's ice-blue eyes. "To hold Emma in my arms again, to feel her between my loins," he said.

Gogol patted him on the arm.

"Now, now, Pyotr; you have wanted your chance to get even with Steed, and now you shall have it. Not by killing him, but by once again bedding your beloved wife."

-oOo-


	2. The Passionate Meal

**Chapter 2**

Steed pulled the Bentley to a stop in front of a richly-appointed hotel located only a few minutes from the University. The forty-year old stone architecture was an eclectic mix of Art Deco and Oriental. Two enormous statues of flat-faced Fu dogs flanked the Palladian entryway. Emma arched an eyebrow as she looked at the sign above it.

"The Golden Dragon?" she asked.

"Purely coincidence, Mrs. Peel." Steed grabbed the bags from the back and handed them to the porter. "The luxury should outweigh the bad connotation," he added, remembering her recent encounter with a certain painted strongman.

"That would require a lot of luxury," Emma said as he held the car door for her. Steed waited patiently as she fought a breeze that caught at the hem of her lightweight summer dress. Then he followed her to the entrance, grinning as he saw her pat the head of the jade-colored dog statue as they went past.

The lobby was opulently furnished with velvet-upholstered chairs, fake Ming vases, and potted palms. Steed dutifully checked in at the front desk and had the bags taken up to the room before suddenly noticing that he was quite alone.

"Mrs. Peel?" he called.

He turned around to see that she had wandered into a small dining area just off the lobby. Nearby, a waiter was already wheeling up a cart and unloading covered serving dishes.

"What's all this?" Steed asked as he strolled over.

Emma held up a plastic-sleeved list folded like an accordion. "Chinese Variety Meal," she quoted from the menu.

"Couldn't wait until supper, eh?"

"It's Chinese food. We'll be hungry again by supper. Did you get our rooms?"

Steed stowed his umbrella and hat in the seat next to her. He jingled a key before handing it over. "Yours is next to mine."

"Why doesn't that make me feel safer?"

"I can help keep intruders out," he suggested.

"Yes. But who's going to keep _you_ out?" she teased.

The waiter supplied them each with a cloth napkin rolled around a set of marble chopsticks. Steed expertly handled the chopsticks; Emma was less certain, having only used bamboo before. They both dug in with gusto, famished from the long drive.

"I don't think I've ever eaten Chinese food off a plate before; only out of cartons," she commented as she managed to chase a bit of beef into her mouth.

"We could slip some cardboard under the serving dish."

"Here. Identify." Emma extended her chopsticks to offer him a small chunk of food covered with a reddish sauce. Steed leaned across the table and took it all in a single bite.

She snickered as Steed's eyes widened from the fiery reaction on his tongue. He groped along the table until he found a water glass to quench the burning sensation, gulping down its entire contents.

"What was _that?_" he stammered.

"Authentic _Gong bao ji ding,_" she announced innocently. "Kung Pao chicken, rife with Szechuan peppercorn and red chilis."

"How come you're not eating it?"

"I'm preserving my taste buds. I prefer a more Western version of Chinese cuisine. The snow peas and rice are excellent," she smirked as she struggled to pick up some grains with the chopsticks.

Steed had a spoon he had used to stir his tea. He scooped up a generous helping of his rice and peas and offered it to her.

"Letting me have some of yours?" Emma asked. She leaned over the table, using her arm to hold the V-shaped neckline of her dress closed, and emptied his spoon with a single mouthful. "Mmm."

"You know what they say," Steed announced glibly. "The way to a woman's heart is through her stomach."

"You have some mixed-up ideas about anatomy. And before you ask, I'm not giving any lessons."

"You and Rita can't be the only women at this symposium," he countered slyly. "I'll just have to find one who can tell me what connects to what."

"Speaking of Rita, I should give her a quick call to let her know that we're in." Emma delicately dabbed her mouth with the napkin and excused herself from the table. There was a private phone box at the far end of the lobby. She smiled back at Steed as she approached the booth. She didn't see the two figures that ducked out of sight.

-oOo-

Rita Fox stormed into a building that looked like a converted warehouse, not a mile distant from the University's Singleton campus. Trailing in her wake was Tara King, and a step behind her, the short blond bob and lithe body of the Russian Olympic swimmer, Marina Irinova.

"It's really not necessary—," Tara began.

The massive room appeared empty, save for a tall golden-haired Amazon in a tight-fitting turtleneck sweater and slacks. She stood in the middle of the floor with her back towards the entrance. As Rita approached, the woman turned around slowly, guiding a wheelchair that had been hidden by her body. The chair contained a jolly, bulky figure with a well-groomed moustache.

"You see, Rhonda," the man said matter-of-factly, "I was correct in my predictions. I knew Dr. Fox would insist on seeing me the instant she got the message from Tara."

Rita halted in her tracks, taken aback for a moment at the sight, then gathered herself.

"You must be Mother," she said tersely.

Mother gave her a broad grin. "And you must be my Angels." He grabbed the wheels of the chair and pushed himself forward out of Rhonda's grip.

"One redhead, one blonde, one brunette," he beamed. "We should be well-supplied for undercover work."

"What makes you think that I want to be a part of this little scheme?" Rita said evenly.

The man's eyes lit up with mischief. "Come now, Doctor. Haven't you ever yearned for a secret life, fighting crime?" He gave a dramatic flourish. "Just imagine it—by day, mild-mannered university researcher; by night: The Scarlet Fox!"

Rita smirked, "I can find other ways to make my nights exciting."

"You must mean that research chemist, Herbert Fredrickson," Mother smiled cryptically.

She arched her eyebrow in surprise. Herbert "Freddie" Fredrickson was the tall, spectacled research chemist she had met in Brighton while on a holiday with Steed. Not only was his apartment near to the campus, but Rita had managed to obtain government funding and some private lab space at the university for him to perform his missile fuel experiments. Her master plan was to eventually bed the shy intellectual.

"How do you know about him?" she asked cautiously.

"The Ministry knows everything about you, Dr. Fox; and on behalf of the organization, let me say that we're impressed." His praise mollified her for a moment. Mother positioned himself in the center of the triangle formed by the women.

"If I may address you all by your first names," he offered politely. "The three of you have unique skills and capabilities. Marina is an Olympic-caliber athlete, and speaks Russian like the native that she is. Rita knows _everything_ about _everything,_ and speaks more than a dozen languages. And Tara is one of our brightest new recruits; within a year or two, after she's finished her training, I expect her to be one of our top field operatives."

"So what is this going to be?" Rita asked in amusement as she scanned the interior of the gymnasium-like area. "Some sort of Spy School?"

"Colloquially but aptly put, Dr. Fox."

"And we're to be the teachers?"

Mother nodded. "From time to time, you may be asked to perform some trivial bit of field work. The rest of the time, you can instruct the new trainees, passing on your skills and experience. I promise I won't interfere with your University schedule, Doctor. And it will give Miss Irinova a purpose—as well as room and board here at the 'Spy School'." He inflected these last words with a touch of wryness.

Tara spoke up. "I understand that Rita did some field work for the Ministry last summer," she said. "And I've been on several training missions. But what experience has Marina had?"

"She is the only person on our side who has actually seen the face of the double agent and traitor who calls himself 'The Ladja'—'The Rook'—and is still alive to identify him," Mother explained. "He is the KGB operative who was responsible for the deaths of many of our European agents before we sent in our top troubleshooter to stop him. His operations were dismantled, and The Ladja was sent to a Siberian gulag for his failures."

Marina's eyes widened. "So what do you need me for?"

Mother pedaled his hands in opposite directions to spin his wheelchair in a quick circle, looking at each of the women before bringing it to a melodramatic stop.

"The Ladja has returned."

-oOo-

Pyotr Pehlovich and Sergei Brodny were concealed behind a potted palm in the lobby of the Golden Dragon Hotel. Brodny scanned the loitering patrons nervously.

"What are we doing here, Comrade Peel? Why aren't we at the spy school?"

"The name's Pehlovich," the taller man corrected. "I've checked the reservations at the front desk. Emma's staying here tonight. We'll find out what she knows first."

A smile crept across Brodny's face. "You devil! You are hoping to get back together with your wife!"

"That is a fortunate side effect of my plan, yes." Pehlovich peeked out from behind the plant and grinned lasciviously as he saw Emma sitting at a table in the dining area. His demeanor changed just as suddenly when he saw Steed sitting across from her.

Brodny followed Pyotr's gaze. A touch of panic tinged his voice. "I thought you said Steed wouldn't be here!"

"The man follows her around like a pet dog," Pehlovich remarked bitterly.

The ambassador was not happy. "Maybe we should go to the spy school instead. Steed can be very dangerous."

"I have some men stationed around the perimeter," said Pehlovich. "We can handle anything Steed might want to dish out."

"I don't like this."

"You're not here to like this, Brodny," Pehlovich said easily. "Just follow my orders. Wait until she is separated from Steed, then expose her to the gas. After that, I will sweep her away."

"She's coming!" Brodny's eyes widened in alarm.

Emma walked past and entered the phone box at the end of the lobby, shutting the door behind her.

Pehlovich smiled malevolently. "The phone box will be perfect. The gas will be concentrated. Get over there, Ambassador, and stick the nozzle through the crack in the door."

Brodny made a surreptitious approach and stood next to the phone booth with his back to its occupant. Stealthily, he slipped the nozzle of the canister into the interior and turned the valve.

After counting to fifteen, he turned around to face Emma. She stared directly at him, and for a moment, the ambassador thought the gas had failed, and all would be lost. Then she halted in mid-dial and hung up the phone. He took a step back as she opened the door.

A hopeful look lit up Brodny's features. Perhaps the lovely Mrs. Peel would be attracted to him, after all! Her eyes were wild as she gazed into his face. Any moment she would step forward and smother him with kisses. Then he realized she was peering past his shoulder towards the figure of her husband at the end of the corridor.

Emma roughly pushed the ambassador aside in her haste to run down the hall. "Peter!" she called breathlessly. "You're alive!" She threw herself into Pehlovich's arms.

"My Emma," he said simply.

-oOo-

Steed had called for a second glass of water to wash away the effects of the Kung Pao sample. It was purely by chance that as he turned to tip the waiter, a familiar bald head caught the corner of his eye. Wasn't that Sergei Brodny? What was the Russian Ambassador doing so far from London?

As Steed rose from his chair to investigate more closely, the man noticed the attention and took off down a nearby hallway. Steed hurried to give chase. It was then that he observed Mrs. Peel was no longer in the phone box.

"Mrs. Peel?" he called out as he rushed in pursuit. He was sure that he had seen Brodny. Then, as he rounded a corner, he saw her standing there.

Mrs. Peel's eyes were on fire as she turned to face him. Steed vaguely discerned two figures vanishing down the darkened end of the corridor.

For a moment, Steed felt a trace of fear as he stared at the strange, conflicted expression that she wore. Then he relaxed as he saw a warm smile creep across her face. She sauntered over to him and pressed the full length of her body against his. The smell of her hair washed over him.

"Mmm," she purred. "I like you better, anyway."

Steed was startled at the contact. "Better than what?" he breathed.

"Never you mind," she answered playfully, tapping the tip of his nose with her finger. "Have I ever told you that your eyes sparkle?"

He was momentarily disarmed. "Why did you leave the phone box? Did you see someone you recognized?"

Mrs. Peel didn't answer; she simply slipped her arm around his waist and put her head on his shoulder, waiting for him to escort her back to the table. Although Steed was accustomed to occasional gestures of affection from her, she seldom exhibited so many in such a short period of time. He was about to ask about the uncharacteristic behavior when she started nibbling at his earlobe.

"You're still hungry?" he joked lightly. "Plenty of food left."

"It's not food that I'm hungry for," she announced as she pressed her warm palm to his chest, then slid it down towards his waist.

"Perhaps you'd better sit down, Mrs. Peel." He broke away from her touch to guide her to the chair. "Are you sure that you're all right?"

"I think every bit of me is right, so that would qualify as 'all'." She started unbuttoning the neckline of her dress to a point shamefully below her breasts, revealing that she wore nothing underneath. "Do you see anything that's wrong?"

"How much wine have you had?" Steed checked the bottle, noting it was still half full. He retreated to his chair on the opposite side of the table. As if she couldn't stand losing contact with him, Emma slipped her bare foot out of its shoe and started running it up the inside of his calf, tickling him with the tips of her toes.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked.

"Nothing, for several months," she said wickedly. "But that's all going to change now."

Her frankness gave him a sudden suspicion that she might be drugged. Steed moved back to her side of the table.

"Are you drinking the same thing as me?" He picked up her glass and took a tiny sip from it. Thanks to her prank with the Kung Pao, he could barely even detect the taste of the wine. If it contained a drug, would it affect him?

Unexpectedly, her hand shot out and grabbed him by his necktie. Before he knew what was happening, she pulled his mouth down to meet hers. Her lips pressed tenderly against his, then the kiss transformed into a ravening hunger. She teasingly flicked her tongue and nibbled at his lower lip. The sensation was sweet beyond all imagining. Steed was stunned as her moist mouth pulled away. Emma looked deep into his eyes.

"Mei-Ling wanted you. Rita wanted you. But I would have fought to keep them away from my man," she said brazenly. "I want every inch of you for myself."

Steed could barely speak. "Am I hearing you correctly, Mrs. Peel?"

"You must call me Emma, from now on." She nuzzled him, rubbing her nose against his. "What does it take to get through to you? In Paris, I spent more time prancing around in my lingerie than I did clothed. Remember wrestling around under the covers in the Alps? And I know you got an eyeful of me in Lo-Chen's warehouse," she added smugly. "That's right, Mei-Ling told me." Emma brushed her lips against his cheek. "You're attracted to me, John Steed. Don't try to pretend it isn't true."

"I—," he faltered. If it was a drug talking, and not her, it would be best to resist doing or saying anything they might both regret.

Emma's face betrayed a wistful longing. "When I let you paint my body, it was one of the most erotic experiences of my life. I only wish I had let you work on the entire canvas." Her mouth curled into a mischievous grin. "We can correct that now."

"I'm afraid I forgot my paintbrush," he ventured.

She smiled. "Improvise."

Steed's eyes darted around the dining area in alarm. None of the other patrons seemed to have noticed her behavior yet.

"Let's go up to your room," he said smoothly.

"Now you're talking! That's what I love about you, Steed. You're a man of action." She suddenly and awkwardly leaped into his arms, forcing him to carry her like a newlywed bride. He sighed. Surely, she was under the influence of some chemical.

Steed struggled with the weight of her athletic body as he grabbed his umbrella and their room keys, then headed for the elevator. When they arrived upstairs, he gently deposited her on the bed, then picked up the phone and ordered room service. She crawled over to him as he hung up the phone.

"You like me, don't you, John?" she asked.

"Of course, Mrs. Peel—er, Emma."

She arched her eyebrow and looked at him imperiously. "So why do we still have our clothes on?"

"I just thought a little champagne would be perfect, to break the ice." There was a knock at the door. "Ah, here it is now." Steed opened the door to admit a waiter carrying a silver bucket filled with ice and a large bottle. After he tipped the waiter, he popped the cork and filled two glasses. Shielding his actions with his body, he slid a small door open in the handle of his umbrella to reveal a secret compartment. He dropped the pill it contained into one of the glasses, then turned to hand it to Mrs. Peel.

"To us," Steed toasted cheerily.

She clinked her glass against his. "To us," Emma agreed. She drank it down in two gulps, while Steed sipped guiltily at his.

As he put the glasses down, she once again slipped her arms around his neck. Just as her lips touched his, her movements started to slow.

"I'm so tired," she yawned.

"It must have been the drive up," Steed said softly, almost regretfully. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," she answered, her head starting to nod languidly. "If you could just... take my clothes off... start without me... and I'll catch up." Her body sagged into his arms as he carefully set her back down on the bed.

"Nighty-night, Mrs. Peel."

The dosage he had used wouldn't put her out for more than an hour. Steed looked down at the sleeping angel. Her neckline was still gaping open from where she had unbuttoned it earlier. In the event she couldn't remember what happened when she was drugged, her state of undress would be a source of mystery and alarm to her. He carefully refastened the buttons, as if he were putting the clothes on a china doll.

Then an interesting thought occurred to him. What if she was still the same when she woke up? Was her amorousness just an effect of the drug, or did she truly have feelings for him? Perhaps all the drug did was remove her inhibitions, allowing her to act on her secret desires.

Steed parked himself in a chair at the foot of her bed, watching over her like a loyal setter.

-oOo-

Pyotr Pehlovich paced the first-floor hallway. He whirled on Brodny, his face betraying his impatience.

"I can only imagine what they're doing up in the room," he announced bitterly.

"Why did you run?" Brodny asked.

"Steed has seen my picture. If he discovers I'm still alive, it will ruin our plans."

"What plans?"

"Do you really want to know what the KGB's plans are, Ambassador?" Pehlovich gazed at him levelly.

"No! Of course not, comrade," Brodny countered quickly. "Forget I said anything!"

Pyotr ignored him. He continued his pacing. "Do you still have the Aphrodisiox?"

"Yes." The ambassador shook the container. "We barely used any."

Pehlovich nodded. "Steed will have to leave her alone sometime."

-oOo-

Steed continued his vigil over the doubly-drugged Emma. He was just starting to drift off when he noticed her stirring back to consciousness. She sat up in bed, looked at him, and smiled.

"Mmm. What a refreshing nap!" Emma exclaimed, stretching her arms above her head. She took in her surroundings. "Wait—how did we get up here in the room? I was... making a phone call." She tried to stand up, then sagged back down onto the bed, still groggy from the pill he had slipped her.

Steed went into the bathroom and fetched a cool washcloth. Her eyes followed him back to the bed, where he tenderly started daubing her forehead.

"Someone drugged you," he said.

Emma's eyes widened. "Oh, Steed! They must have been trying to get some piece of information out of me. Do you know if I revealed anything I shouldn't have?"

"You were only away from me for a few seconds," he soothed her. "I'm sure you were the soul of discretion, Emma." Steed watched for her reaction.

"Emma? Since when do you call me Emma?"

"Did I?" he corrected himself. "Perhaps they slipped me a drug as well, Mrs. Peel. What's the last thing you recall?"

"I think I remember seeing a familiar face... one I haven't seen for months."

"Ambassador Brodny?" Steed prompted.

"Yes, that must have been it," she said distantly. "I saw Brodny."

"He could have tampered with something at our table," he mused.

"Then why weren't you drugged like me?" Emma asked. "We were sharing the same food and bottle of wine."

"Perhaps we were both exposed to the drug, but I had achieved some immunity," he offered.

"What did you have that I didn't?"

Steed snapped his fingers and grinned. "The Kung Pao. It probably nullifies the effects of anything. I'll call room service, have some sent up..."

She wrinkled her mouth. "I'd rather have amnesia, thank you. Why would Brodny want to drug me?

"Perhaps he's doing it for someone else. Maybe some rival lecturer wanted to put you off your game for the symposium."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You know the cutthroat world of university politics," he teased. "Are there any Russian doctors attending?"

Emma shook her head. Outside the window, night was starting to fall. Steed gathered his hat and umbrella.

"You have a long day tomorrow," he said sincerely, heading for the door. "I'll be off to my room. Good night, Mrs. Peel."

"Stay." Her command was urgent.

Steed was breathless. "What for?"

"I... need someone to practice my speech on."

He relaxed. Steed sat down in the desk chair, gave her a cheerful smile, and spread his arms expansively.

"I belong entirely to you."

-oOo-


	3. The Spy School

**Chapter 3**

The foyer just outside the lecture hall was "old school", walled with mahogany and decorated with oil paintings of long-dead trustees. In this somber atmosphere, a sea of excitement had formed around the two young women who had just spoken at the morning session. And in that sea, men had gathered like sharks at a feeding frenzy: the young, long-haired medical students, and the ancient, fossilized professors. Perhaps they were not as interested in phytopharmaceuticals of the rainforest biome as they were in a personal relationship with the fiery redhead or the auburn-haired beauty. And if their tastes didn't run toward the academic, there was always the blonde Russian Olympic swimmer to choose from, hovering nearby.

Off to one corner, John Steed stood silently. Instead of blending in, as he usually did, he looked conspicuously like a security agent: eyes darting, mentally cataloging each person in the room, ever watchful. His heightened level of anxiety was due to the large concentration of women he cared about all in the same place at the same time. In addition, someone had clearly tested some sort of drug on Mrs. Peel last night. He hadn't confided in her about the effects she had exhibited, but he doubted she would believe she was capable of such wanton sexuality towards him.

Rita Fox was conservative as always in her white blouse, red ribbon, flannel skirt, and brown leather calf boots; Emma, more flamboyant in her floral-print summer dress. It made for an odd combination. While Emma was shaking hands with some university bigwigs, Rita was answering questions from a small group of young men.

"You mean that you and Mrs. Peel were both taken hostage by arms smugglers while in the Amazon, and that's how you met?" one of them asked.

"Yes," Rita bragged. "Luckily, we were more than a match for their jungle intellects. We overpowered them and escaped."

"Against a band of armed guerillas?"

"Women are far more crafty in hand-to-hand combat," she answered smugly. "Emma made sure that more than one of them left with his tail between his legs."

"And neither of you were hurt?"

"I took some shrapnel from a Claymore blast," Rita offered nonchalantly.

Steed grinned as she wickedly hiked up the hem of her skirt to reveal a generous portion of her right thigh. He thought several of the older doctors might have lapsed into cardiac arrest as she pointed out the scar. The young doctors moved in closer, and one of them suggested that therapeutic massage might speed the healing.

Emma wandered over and gently touched Steed's arm.

"Any Russians lurking about?" she asked.

"Nary a Red has shown his head," Steed rhymed. "But I could have sworn that I saw Brodny last night. How's your memory?"

"I had a vague impression of meeting him," she offered. "Maybe we both imagined it."

"Perhaps. Your speech seems to have gone over well."

"You weren't even listening," she chided.

"I heard it twice last night. I have it memorized."

Emma straightened his tie. "So you won't mind taking a little quiz?"

Steed gave her a wry smile and hung his head. "I promise to listen more closely when you lecture this afternoon."

"I thought so." Emma noticed that the young men had completely hemmed in her co-writer. "I'd better go bail Rita out," she observed, heading back into the crowd.

"Are you sure she wants saving?" Steed teased after her. Then his senses went on alert. Someone new had entered the room and was now talking to Marina. It was a very young woman with dark, perfect hair wearing an embarrassingly short skirt. Steed ducked around the corner to avoid being seen, watching the exchange with one eye.

He wasn't close enough to overhear. The dark-haired woman left, and Marina drifted over to where Rita would undoubtedly be signing autographs soon, if her admirers had their way. Marina whispered discreetly into her ear.

"Tara says we must meet. She will be waiting for us at the warehouse."

-oOo-

"They say they won't interfere with my university schedule, but here they are, demanding we show up again," Rita complained as she approached the warehouse that had been designated as the "Spy School".

"But it is exciting, is it not, _dushka?_" Marina ventured from beside her. "Also, did not we come yesterday of our own will?"

"Hmmpf." Rita pulled the door open and cautiously scanned the interior. The man who called himself "Mother" was gone, and several padded mats had been laid out on the floor. A leather-covered practice bag hung on a chain suspended from a cross-brace, and Tara was attacking it with more enthusiasm than skill. She had changed into a lightweight silk martial arts _gi_; and as the lapels gaped open when she launched a high kick, Rita could see that she wore little else underneath.

She couldn't help but admire Tara's profile with a flash of jealousy. If only she were twenty again, but this time with a perfectly toned body and full, flawless breasts like Tara had. Perhaps she would have become a government agent, rather than a librarian. But then she wouldn't have the Research Chair at the University of Swansea.

"I still have another lecture after lunch," Rita reminded her as they approached.

"Mother has some intelligence that indicates there are KGB agents in the area." Tara announced. "Perhaps even The Ladja himself. So it's important for us to have combat skills. We need to set up regular practice and sparring sessions. Do you two know anything about fighting?"

"I know where a man's vulnerable spots are," Rita smirked. "What more is there to know?"

"Yes," Marina agreed. "You just wait until he's close enough, and _yaishnitsa!_" She thrust her knee upwards into the bag with such vigor that Rita winced in sympathy for her imaginary male victim.

Tara rolled her eyes. "Look you two, one of these days you'll be attacked, and it'll turn out that he's a cricket player or something, so he's wearing protective equipment. Then what are you going to do?" She waved her hand for emphasis. "No vulnerabilities, no _yaishnitsa_, or whatever Marina calls it." She glared sternly at the two of them. "Then you'll be in _real_ trouble."

Marina and Rita hung their heads and glanced sideways at each other, like schoolgirls called before the headmaster.

"That's why you need to learn _real_ fighting skills," Tara explained. "Judo, karate, jujitsu..."

"Do you know how to do all of those?" Rita asked.

Tara reddened. "Well, I'm learning. You could too."

"So then I'll be able to fight like Emma Peel or Cathy Gale?"

"I don't recognize the names," Tara frowned. "No, wait—isn't Emma Peel that test pilot's wife?"

"She's my co-author," Rita replied. "And her husband, the pilot, is dead."

Tara continued, "There was a Catherine Gale who used to work with the Ministry's top troubleshooter, John Steed." Her eyes lit up. "Now there's a man who knows everything about espionage. The consummate operative. The Steed Method. I've never met him, but just spend ten minutes with him, and I bet you'll learn more about covert procedures than a week of classes could teach you."

A distant look filled Rita's eyes as she smiled. "My first impression was that he was a bit of a trickster, but I learned to love him in time."

Tara arched her eyebrow at Rita's choice of words. Love?

"You got to work with _The_ John Steed?" she asked skeptically.

Rita nodded. "For five months. It was an exciting summer, I can tell you."

Marina bobbed her head in agreement. "He is a wonderful man."

Tara was exasperated. She turned to Marina. "Don't tell me you worked with him too?"

"Of course not," Marina answered. "I am Russian. I could not possibly have worked with him." Tara seemed to cool off for an instant before Marina added quietly, "I just lived with him for several weeks."

"Lived with him?" Tara fumed.

"I needed a place to stay, right after he helped me defect. He slept on the sofa and let me take the bed. A perfect gentleman."

Tara clinched her fists. "Has everyone here met John Steed except for me?"

Marina exchanged grins with Rita. Then they both turned their heads at a sound that came from behind some gym equipment stacked in the corner. Someone else was in the room. Marina sprinted directly at the source of the noise, and a sinister man emerged to charge at her. Acting purely on instinct, she grabbed his wrist, and with a violent jerk, sent him stumbling across the floor to a position directly in front of Tara.

The man recovered almost instantly and put his hands around Tara's neck in a stranglehold. Suddenly, any training she might have acquired seemed to desert her. After a moment's hesitation, she started to grapple with him; then her robe loosened, and it proved to be the perfect distraction. While her opponent stared open-mouthed at her revealed torso, Tara executed a quick counter to chop his arms away from her throat and fired the heel of her palm into the spot just below his rib cage, right into the nerve plexus. The man was stunned into paralysis for a moment, teetering as he struggled for breath.

In her zeal to contribute, Rita ran up behind him and snapped a sharp kick squarely between his legs with her leather calf boot. The intruder gasped a lungful of air and then sank to the floor with a whimper, his hands clutching his groin. Tara shot Rita an expression of disapproval as she adjusted her robe.

"I had already disabled him."

Rita smiled sheepishly. "Well, at least now we know he isn't a cricket player."

Marina rejoined them and combed her short hair back into place with her fingers. "He will be helpless for several minutes," she declared matter-of-factly. "Perhaps we should check his pockets."

"Might as well, since Rita's made sure he can't answer questions anytime soon," Tara said with irritation. She flipped the incapacitated man over with her toe and fished the wallet out of his back pocket.

"KGB," she said knowingly as she examined his driver's license.

Rita's eyes got big. "It actually says that on there? I didn't know they had a spot for it."

"Of course not," Tara answered patiently. "This ID is a forgery. Standard Kremlin issue."

Marina examined the face more closely. "I recognize this man from Tokyo," she offered. "One of The Ladja's henchmen."

"Shouldn't we tell Mother?" Rita asked.

"We need to learn to function autonomously," Tara replied. "We can't go running to him every time there's a development in a case."

"Oh, so now we're on a _case?_" Rita demanded.

Marina was beaming. "How exciting!"

Tara pondered the situation for a moment. "Rita, you have another lecture to give, but Marina and I can search the campus. She's the important one, since only she can identify The Ladja."

Rita gave a cynical snort. "And what do you do when you find him?"

Marina and Tara looked at each other cluelessly for a second. Then Marina's face lit up.

"We hope that he is not a cricket player," she answered smartly.

-oOo-

Emma was at Steed's side as they walked down the corridor of the Chemistry Building.

"Remember, I have another lecture in a couple of hours," she said.

Steed nodded. "We'll be back in plenty of time."

"Who are we looking for?"

"Dr. Herbert Fredrickson," said Steed, making no sign he intended to elaborate. His plan was to ask the doctor about any drugs that could cause the effects Emma had exhibited.

"Why not just check the University Directory?"

"He doesn't teach here. Rita just fixed him up with some lab space."

"Why would she do that?"

"He's her beau."

"Oh?" A smile tugged at the corner of Emma's mouth. "I always assumed she was still carrying the torch for you."

"Not at all. Now's your chance, Mrs. Peel. I'm completely available."

She looked at him with a smirk. "I like to browse the market a bit before making my selections. Did you see some of those young doctors?"

"You need an older, more experienced man," Steed said with mock seriousness. "One who can put up with your eccentricities."

"_My_ eccentricities?" she teased. "I'm not the one who drives a thirty-year old sports car."

"Some things just improve with age. A fast car, a fine wine, a sharp cheddar—me."

"Is that a famous palindrome?"

"You're thinking of 'a man, a plan, a canal—Panama'. Although we are both timeless constructions."

"We'll find his office faster if we split up," she suggested.

Steed didn't like the idea of leaving Mrs. Peel unattended. "But you don't know what he looks like."

"Describe him for me."

"Tall, studious-looking, wire-rimmed glasses," Steed responded noncommittally.

"Your powers of observation are keen. That narrows it down to half the professors here."

Steed grinned. "If you see anyone who seems likely, just go up and ask his name."

"And why wouldn't he be suspicious of a complete stranger?"

He looked her over, from her open-toed high-heeled shoes to the dazzling floral print dress and perfect auburn hair.

"Believe me, Mrs. Peel, if a man sees someone like you walk up to him and ask his name," Steed smiled, "he tells you."

-oOo-

"Finally," Pehlovich commented. "He's left her alone."

He stood next to Brodny as they both watched Steed walk away down an intersecting corridor, leaving Emma unescorted. The two men started to approach her, ducking into doorways whenever she gave a sign that she might turn around. Emma was now moving slowly down the hall, checking each room as she went past. Pehlovich smiled as he saw her take a sharp turn that led to a dead end.

"Now we have her," he said smugly. "I'll catch her in the last lab on the left."

Brodny looked nervous. "What if Steed comes back?"

"You can be my diversion," Pehlovich announced. "Just make sure to keep him busy, and keep him away. Give me the Aphrodisiox."

Brodny handed over the stainless-steel cylinder. The ambassador kept his eyes on Mrs. Peel as her husband crept stealthily up behind her. Then he heard the hiss of the escaping gas.

-oOo-

Steed slowly walked down a corridor adjacent to the one Mrs. Peel had taken. It was only a ploy; he had detected two figures following them, at extreme distance. After a purely arbitrary count to thirty, he wheeled suddenly and loped back the way he came. As he turned another corner, he saw Brodny with his back to one of the lab doors. Steed gave him a warm greeting.

"Ambassador Brodny! What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Steed! What a surprise to meet you!" Brodny's eyes darted back and forth in panic. "I'm er—vacationing. I am hoping to enjoy the lovely Wale-ish countryside."

"The word is 'Welsh', Sergei," Steed corrected smoothly, giving a false smile. "One might think you were stalking Mrs. Peel."

"Mrs. Peel is here? I had no idea! How wonderful for you to have such a beautiful woman to accompany you!" Brodny backed against the door, using his body to block the small window above the handle.

"You're not going to see much countryside in the Chemistry Building," Steed said evenly.

"Is that where I am? Silly me. It is so easy to get lost in your fine country!" Brodny leaned forward and joked conspiratorially, "It's the alphabet, you know. It's just not Greek to me."

Steed politely shouldered past him.

"You mustn't go in there!" Brodny cried in alarm.

"So that's where Mrs. Peel went," Steed said evenly.

"But—!"

Brodny's words were cut short as Steed pushed through the door. The room was filled with sinks and Bunsen burners. Behind him, Steed could hear footsteps as Brodny took off running down the hall. Almost immediately, a scuffling sound came from the far end of the room.

"Mrs. Peel?" he called out.

A male figure vanished through the only other door, in the opposite wall. Brodny must have had an accomplice. The man was tall, but was turned such that his face couldn't be seen.

Steed nearly jumped through the ceiling as Emma came up stealthily behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist to hold him captive while she slipped her other hand between his thighs. She gave his inner leg a suggestive caress.

"Why don't we ever go to bed together?" she cooed softly over his shoulder.

"We've shared a bed together on many occasions, Mrs. Peel," he replied, somewhat unsteadily due to the contact.

"Emma," she reminded him. "I don't mean sleeping. I mean making love. I've been thinking about it for some time now. I'm sure we'd be spectacular at it." Emma gave his backside an affectionate squeeze to emphasize her point.

"I share your certainty. Can you remember what you were doing when I walked in? Did someone just give you something to eat or drink?"

"The only thing I'm hungry for is you," she said as she nibbled on his earlobe, delicately tugging at it with her teeth.

"Then it must be a gas," Steed reasoned, trying to maintain focus through her attentions. "Or perhaps an aerosol that could be sprayed on?" He sniffed at his own lapels, then leaned backward to sniff Emma.

"You smell perfect to me," she laughed. "Perfectly delicious." She spun him around and ran her hands across his chest. "Let me wear your shirt again." Emma tenderly pressed her lips against his mouth. "Mmm. You taste delicious, too."

Steed continued, "Maybe it's something they injected you with." He disengaged himself and examined her forearms. "Do you have any needle marks on your body? Perhaps very small?"

"I suggest you remove all my clothes and examine me thoroughly, just to be sure," Emma said playfully, holding her arms out to offer herself to him.

Steed forced himself to concentrate. There was a shelved cabinet behind Mrs. Peel's left shoulder. As he quickly scanned the labels on the solutions stored there, he saw one that looked promising. He gently pushed Emma forward, pressing her up against the case so that the bottles would be in easy reach.

"That's more like it," she growled sexily. "You're finally coming alive." She grabbed his wrist and pressed his palm to her breast, gasping with passion as it made contact. Meanwhile, Steed reached over her shoulder for one of the bottles. He unstoppered it and quickly held it under her nose, at the same time holding his breath.

Her eyes glazed over as the chloroform took effect. Steed barely managed to catch her as her warm, soft body sagged into his arms, a contented smile still on her lips.

Steed set down the bottle and propped Mrs. Peel in a chair next to the lab bench. Then he took the chloroform and spilled it out onto the table next to her. With any luck, when she came to, she would think that she had accidentally knocked over the bottle and been overcome by the fumes. If her recovery was the same as last night, she wouldn't even remember his being there.

Something unusual was going on, and Brodny was definitely involved. Steed decided that he needed to get in touch with Rita, find out where Herbert was, and get him to examine Mrs. Peel while she was still drugged.

-oOo-

Pehlovich had chased down Brodny in the hall. He grabbed the ambassador by his jacket collar and dragged him back to the small window in the lab door.

"I thought I told you to keep Steed busy."

"I tried!" Brodny protested.

"If only Gogol would give me permission to kill Steed," Pehlovich remarked grimly. "You don't know how I long to be rid of him, Brodny."

The ambassador was disturbed at this outburst, but said nothing. Pehlovich frowned as they both looked in through the narrow window. "Doesn't that man ever leave her alone?"

"He must suspect something after yesterday," Brodny reasoned. He watched as Steed overturned the bottle on the table. "I think he chloroformed her!"

Pehlovich give a smirk. "Steed is a fool not to take advantage of her when she's in this condition. What kind of a man is he?"

"Steed is a gentleman!" Brodny said vigorously, then nervously added, "Not to say that you are not, of course, Squadron Leader Peel."

"Pehlovich."

Brodny noticed that a dark-haired woman in a short miniskirt was walking down the hall towards them. Pehlovich pulled him aside.

"That woman has seen us. I believe she's a rookie agent for the Ministry. There's an outside chance she may recognize me and report back. Expose her to the gas, Brodny."

"You wish to seduce her?" the ambassador asked.

"No, just to erase her memory," Pehlovich countered. "Then let's get out of here. We can question Emma later. The place seems to be crawling with Ministry agents, and for some reason, one of my men hasn't reported back yet."

-oOo-

The doubly-drugged Emma was left with her head resting on the lab worktable as Steed walked briskly towards the hallway. As he neared the door, he thought he saw a face vanish from view in the small window. It must have been Brodny, or perhaps his accomplice.

Steed flung the door open just in time to hear the ambassador call out, "It's Steed!" Two figures took off running, leaving a single occupant in the hall with a dazed expression on her face.

It was the young, dark-haired woman who had been talking to Marina earlier. Perhaps she knew where Rita was; and once he found Rita, he would know how to find Herbert. Steed approached her with a friendly smile.

"Good morning," he said, tipping his hat. "I'm looking for Rita Fox or Marina Irinova. Perhaps you know them?"

"That man called you Steed," she said with reverence.

He nodded charmingly. "Because it's my name."

The light of adoration filled the woman's eyes. She lunged forward and pounced on him, like a playful kitten on a ball of string, knocking him back onto a nearby bench.

"John Steed!" she squealed in delight.

-oOo-


	4. Unexpected Encounters

**Chapter 4**

Steed looked up into the beautiful crystal blue eyes that stared into his. The dark-haired woman had a bright countenance and a winsome smile. Her breasts were shapely and soft; he knew, because she was pressing them against him, almost directly in his face. In addition to her miniskirt, she wore leather boots that came up past her knees, well onto her thighs. She had trapped him against a bench, straddling him at the waist. Steed tried to maintain his poise.

"Do I know you, Miss—?"

"King, Tara King," she answered.

"Do you always pounce on passers-by?" he said charmingly.

She ignored him. "Go ahead, say it—'Rah-boom-di-ay'."

"Why would I say that?"

"You know: Ta-ra, 'Rah-boom-di-ay'."

Steed arched his eyebrows. "You're under some sort of intoxication, Miss King."

"Only by the sexiest, most skillful agent on Her Majesty's Secret Service!" she said eagerly. Tara locked her mouth over Steed's and kissed him deeply. He came up gasping for air. She pressed her lower body against his and wriggled her hips, as if delighted to feel him beneath her. He gently tried to push her away.

"I don't actually work for MI6," he countered. "Or MI5, for that matter."

"Oh, I know! _You're_ the master troubleshooter. The Steed Method. That's all I hear at the Academy."

"You work for the Ministry?"

"We're starting a training facility for women agents here in Swansea," she explained. "I'm going to suggest to Mother that every room have a poster of you on the wall, to inspire the girls. Imagine it: John Steed—our idol!" she beamed.

"Mother?" he asked.

"I don't know his real name. An old friend of yours, an agent, recently shot and partially paralyzed."

"Mother is a man?" Steed asked. Then he thought for a moment. A school for women agents, here in Swansea. A drug that could be used to make women compliant and willing...

Tara casually unbuttoned her silk blouse and stripped it off, revealing a substantial white-lace foundation garment. She leaned forward and planted another lingering kiss on his lips.

"Work with me, Steed. We could be a great team. In bed _and_ out. Excuse me while I get this off." She reached around to her back and started to unhook the clasp.

"No, no!" he said in alarm, then faked a smile as he stayed her hand. "I mean—leave it on. Much sexier that way."

"Really?"

"Er—yes," he said awkwardly, searching for a plausible reason. "There's something about a woman in lingerie. Look, Miss King—"

"Call me Tara. Perhaps you should just take a peek at my breasts," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm told they're really quite exceptional..."

"I'm sure they are." He managed a wry grin. "Look, Tara, I'm currently working with Mrs. Peel—"

Tara frowned. "The test pilot's wife? An amateur! And how can you even look at that librarian and the swimmer? I'm going to be a _professional_ agent. _I'm_ the one you need to be with." She leaned back and hiked up her miniskirt to give Steed a close look at her silky lingerie. Between the top of her soft leather boots and her panties she wore a holster complete with lockpicks and a small 22-caliber pistol. Tara grabbed Steed's wrists and pressed his palms to her thighs, just above the spot where her boots ended. Steed wrestled free and quickly withdrew his hands.

"It's all right to touch me," she laughed. "I'm not a hot stove." Tara again wriggled her hips sinuously. "Although I am getting warm!"

"Please, Miss King—"

"Ta-ra," she sang liltingly. A pout crossed her face. "You have a reputation with women that you're supposed to be upholding here."

"But you don't know what you're doing!" Steed protested.

Her voice deepened as she once again leaned close. "Then teach me," she said huskily. Tara's eyes glazed over with passion as she covered him with nibbles and kisses.

Steed slipped his hands up to her shoulders, delicately running his fingers across the exquisite line of her neck, seeking the warmly pulsing carotid artery. Tara mistook his actions as a caress.

"Now you're getting into the spirit of it!" she exclaimed cheerily, slipping her palms from his chest down to his belt. She pressed her cheek next to his.

"Come on, John Steed," she moaned in ecstasy. "Fly me into orbit!"

Steed applied pressure to the exact point he had probed out on her neck and held it for a few seconds. He felt the entire weight of her soft body as she slumped onto him, unconscious. He grinned as he reached around and playfully patted her behind.

"Maybe later."

-oOo-

Pehlovich and Brodny had not yet left the Chemistry Building when the missing KGB agent came running in.

"I have been to the Spy School," he panted, addressing them both.

"What did you see there?" Pehlovich asked.

"Three young ladies—one blonde, one redhead, one brunette. The brunette seemed to be in charge."

"Mrs. Peel?" Brodny offered.

Pehlovich shook his head. "Couldn't be. We were tracking her. It must have been that rookie agent we gassed in the hall."

"She's in charge?"

"I doubt it," Pehlovich said. "She's probably just the contact for all the other women at the school. We need to find out who she reports to." He turned to his man with a withering stare. "How is it that she arrived here before you?"

The man hung his head and said nothing.

Pehlovich looked at him in disgust. "You let yourself be overpowered by three women," he sneered.

"They're very tricky," he protested. "While I was strangling the dark-haired one, the redhead sneaked up behind me, and..." He pressed his thighs together at the memory of the stunning pain.

Pehlovich slapped him sharply across the face. "All of my men are useless children. I'm going to have to handle this myself. It is my belief that Emma is in charge of the Spy School."

He turned to the ambassador. "Go upstairs, Brodny. The instant that my wife regains consciousness, use the Aphrodisiox. I will be right behind you."

"I must check on my men," Pehlovich continued as he glowered at the KGB agent, "to make sure that none of their nappies need changing."

-oOo-

Emma opened her eyes to see glass retorts, beakers, and test tubes spinning around her. She closed her eyes, waiting for her head to clear. When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was a bottle of chloroform that had made a puddle on the table next to her. The second was the face of the Russian Ambassador.

"Brodny!" she managed to croak.

"Here you go, Mrs. Peel," the ambassador sang soothingly. "I have something for you." He pulled the stainless-steel canister out of his jacket.

Emma struggled against the chloroform-induced malaise. "What is that?" she asked groggily.

"It won't hurt you. Just a little something to make you answer some questions," he said as he tried to twist the valve. His eyes widened in panic. The handle was stuck.

Emma was starting to move. "When I get my hands on you, Brodny..." She staggered to her feet and lurched at him, supporting herself with one hand against the lab bench.

"No! Mrs. Peel! I—" He fought with the gas canister as she drew nearer.

"If you release that in here, you'll breathe it as well," she said reasonably. "But you've already taken an antidote, haven't you, Ambassador?" She clutched at his wrist with an iron grip. "Give it to me!"

Brodny frantically shook himself free of her hold and ran to the door. Emma couldn't see him as he sprinted down the hall and ducked into one of the nearby labs to hide. She ran past and headed down the stairs, to the front of the building.

-oOo-

Brodny looked around the lab for something to free the valve handle on the canister. This was Squadron Leader Peel's fault—he was the last to use the gas; he must have twisted too tightly. He found a metal rod he could use for leverage, and soon had the valve spinning free again with its accompanying hiss.

Footsteps were echoing towards him, coming up the outside hallway. Brodny grinned with determination; he was ready for Mrs. Peel this time.

He peeked out and to his surprise, he saw a young blonde checking each of the lab doors. He recognized her immediately. It was that woman that had been living with Steed last summer! She must have been the blonde at the Spy School that the agent had mentioned.

This would be his chance to prove himself to the KGB.

-oOo-

Pyotr Pehlovich was on the second floor, heading towards the lab where he had last seen his wife. He was surprised to see Brodny in the hallway.

"Is Emma in there?" he asked.

"Well," Brodny admitted, "not exactly."

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?"

"Mrs. Peel got away. But she has seen me, after the drug wore off," Brodny fretted. "She will remember it!"

"Get a hold of yourself, Brodny."

"I am a diplomat, not a cloak-and-dagger agent," he whined anxiously.

Pehlovich shook him. "Gogol will have my hide if I don't at least come away with the name of the agent they have placed in charge of this operation. Why are you guarding this door?"

The ambassador's face brightened. "I have—how do you say it?—'used my own initiative'."

"There's someone in there?"

"This woman was living with Steed last summer," Brodny explained. "Undoubtedly, she was his lover. Perhaps even a Ministry agent! She must be the blonde that was at the Spy School."

"Have you exposed her to the gas?"

"Yes. I told her that I was a friend of Steed's, and he would be up to see her at any minute."

"And she bought that?"

"She was almost ready to remove her clothes right then and there! You should have no trouble, Squadron Leader Peel."

"Pehlovich," he corrected. He opened the door to see the back of a slender blonde woman. Her hair was cut short, in a pixie, and she wore a sheer white blouse with khaki shorts. Pyotr waved Brodny to stand guard, then entered the room and shut the door behind him.

So this was Steed's girlfriend before he met Emma. She looked well-muscled enough to meet the Ministry's requirements. Brodny's analysis must be correct. Pehlovich crept up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Darling love," he said.

"_Dushenika_," Marina responded tenderly, without turning around.

"Mmm," he murmured, kissing her neck. "Tell me about the Spy School," he said smoothly.

"Isn't it exciting?" she bubbled. "I will be teaching Russian along with Rita."

"Teaching?" Pehlovich asked. "For whom?"

"A man in a wheelchair called 'Mother'. He seems very nice. Do you know him?"

"Mmm," Pehlovich responded in lieu of an answer, still kissing her neck. "Is this 'Mother' the top man?"

"Yes," Marina said distractedly. Under the effect of the gas, she was becoming inflamed with passion.

"Is Emma Peel involved?" he asked evenly.

Marina was too aroused to answer. "You are driving me crazy!" she moaned. "We must make love, this instant." She started unbuttoning her blouse, and when she made a move to slip it off, she looked back over her shoulder. The shock was instantly apparent on her face.

"You are not Steed!" she cried. "I have seen you before. You are The Ladja!"

A malevolent smile spread across Pehlovich's lips. "And you're that swimmer from Ozero Krugloye—the one who tipped off Steed to the assassination in Tokyo!" He quickly moved his hands from her waist and wrapped them around her torso like bands of steel, trapping her arms and crushing her ribcage with the pressure.

"And if I'm not mistaken," he added, "you're the only living person for the other side who can identify me..."

-oOo-

Marina tried to scream for help, but she couldn't draw enough breath. Using her strong swimmer's legs, she drove her feet against the floor in an attempt to impel her captor backwards into the corner. The Ladja's weight and resistance spoiled her momentum and he hit the wall with a feeble bump. He laughed at the futility of her efforts and tightened his grip.

Breathing was now impossible. The Ladja was a killer; this much she knew. But was he trying to kill her, or just render her unconscious? She struggled to launch a kick backward, but his hold on her was too complete. Her vision started to tunnel.

Marina weakly turned her head. Through her oxygen-deprived haze, she saw a sign: CHEMICAL EMERGENCY WASH STATION.

She must have backed him into the corner beneath the spout. A triangular metal bracket was hanging from a chain, waist high, just a few feet away. Marina slipped her foot out of its shoe, and with a final, desperate effort, kicked upwards and snagged the handle with her toes. She tugged down on the chain with all the remaining strength she could muster.

A sudden blast of cold water jetted from overhead, and she felt her startled captor reflexively loosen his grip. The Ladja spluttered as his face took the brunt of the icy spray. Marina was already moving, releasing the handle with her foot, then leaping forward while simultaneously kicking backwards with her bare sole. She winced as her toes jammed against the wall, but she kept driving her heel upward until she felt it impact firmly in her assailant's crotch.

"Ha!" she exclaimed in triumph. The Ladja released her with a pained grunt. She sprinted for the door, kicking off her other shoe. Another man was waiting just outside, but he simply stared open-mouthed at her wet, unbuttoned, transparent blouse.

Marina ran down the hall in search of her fellow Angel. Tara would know what to do; she had been trained in karate, or so she had said.

-oOo-

Brodny stood in the hallway gawking, the image of the woman in the wet blouse still imprinted on his mind. Pehlovich staggered out of the lab, unable to stand upright.

"Why didn't you mention she was our Olympic swimmer who had defected?" he snapped at Brodny.

"She did not look like a swimmer," the ambassador said slyly, "although now that I have seen her covered with water, I definitely approve!"

"She attacked me, you idiot," Pehlovich countered.

"I don't understand. She was attracted to Steed, so surely she should be attracted to you."

"The woman knows my true identity, as a double agent working for the KGB. This is apparently enough to override any physical attraction she might feel, even with the Aphrodisiox."

Brodny reddened. "You knew her in Russia?"

Pehlovich nodded. "At least I managed to gather some intelligence about the Spy School. Emma should be able to fill in the gaps. The identity of this 'Mother', for instance."

"What do we do now?" Brodny asked meekly.

"Emma has another lecture just after lunch," Pyotr said. "Let's get over to the main Administration Building and try to intercept her there."

-oOo-

Steed had left the amorous Miss King curled up on the padded bench with her head in her arms, hastily redressed. He ran up a flight of stairs to put some distance between them in case his pressure-point countermove hadn't been as effective as usual. As he arrived on the third floor, he noticed a tall, awkward man working in a lab right next to the stairwell.

When Rita had first mentioned her relationship with Dr. Fredrickson, Steed had pulled his dossier, just to make sure he was legitimate. The man in the lab was the same one he had seen in the file photo.

"Dr. Herbert Fredrickson?" Steed called out as he entered the room. "My name's John Steed."

"I know you. You're that government chap Rita's always going on about."

Steed removed his hat. "I need your help, Herbert."

"Rita calls me Freddie."

Steed smiled. "I know she does. Look, Herbert, I need you to isolate an experimental drug that the KGB has been testing here at the University."

"Top secret, eh?"

"Very. If I led you to a woman who had been affected, could you take a sample of her blood and identify the substance?"

"I'm a chemical engineer, not a medical doctor."

Steed pondered for a moment. "Several women have been exposed to a chemical that seems to make them wild with lust," he explained. "I have one of them knocked out in a lab downstairs."

Herbert took off his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve. "Did you say _lust?_"

"They can't keep their hands off me," Steed declared.

"I say, are you sure it's a drug?" Herbert offered. "I mean, it _is_ springtime. Love is in the air."

Steed snapped his fingers. "You could be right."

"It was just a figure of speech."

"If I obtained a sample of the air where a woman had been affected, could you identify any foreign substances in it?"

"We have a chromatograph that should be able to do that. But it would have to be a high concentration, while the gas is taking effect. Residual traces would be too weak."

Steed nodded. "Are you going to be here this afternoon?"

"Yes. I'm running an all-day experiment."

"Keep your chromatograph warmed up. I have a love potion for you to analyze."

Steed trotted back down the stairs to the front door. He saw Mrs. Peel standing there, looking radiant in her floral print dress with her auburn hair cascading around her shoulders.

The chloroform must have worn off, Steed reasoned, and she had wandered here, looking for a lover. He came up behind her and slipped his hands familiarly around her waist. Perhaps he could coax her to have a seat, and he could satisfy her with mere cuddling until the drug wore off.

Mrs. Peel whirled on him, and his reflexes weren't fast enough to save him as the edge of her hand smacked into his jaw.

-oOo-


	5. Make Your Choice

**Chapter 5**

A beautiful face hovered over him, its usual mysterious smile replaced with a look of concern and its upturned nose flaring with excitement.

"Steed? Are you all right?"

He took the hand she offered and pulled himself to his feet. She stroked his arm gently.

"I thought you were Ambassador Brodny," she continued.

"You practice a curious form of diplomacy, Mrs. Peel." He gingerly rubbed his jaw. He had managed to react at the last second to catch only a glancing blow. That explained how he retained consciousness. Emma lightly dusted off his clothing.

"Brodny chloroformed me and tried to expose me to some experimental drug," she explained. "He said he was after information."

Steed didn't give away his knowledge of the truth. "You think you have problems?" he teased offhandedly. "All the women I meet are trying to seduce me." He brushed off his jacket and straightened his tie.

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Really, Steed."

He nodded. "It must be a singular case of runaway charm."

"More like a case of runaway ego," she chided playfully. "I care for you very much, Steed, but you must get over this idea that you are a gift to all women. Most of us actually have to exert a bit of effort to put up with you."

He gave her a wry smile. "So you're not the least bit attracted to me?"

A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "No more than usual."

The amnesia effects of the drug were truly amazing, Steed thought. He allowed Mrs. Peel to replace the bowler on his head with playful tap.

"Our lecture is in the main Administration Building, just after lunch," Emma reminded him. "It's half past eleven. I'm scheduled to meet Rita in the grand dining room now, to make sure all of the arrangements went as planned."

Steed offered her his arm as they walked towards the main building.

"I'll keep an eye out for Brodny," he said. "You just focus on your speech."

Emma looked puzzled. "What information could he think I would be in possession of?" she wondered aloud. "Is there some Ministry thing going on here, Steed?"

Steed thought about the school for women agents. "If there were, would you object to me keeping it a secret?"

"Under the circumstances, no," she acquiesced. "But we need to try to get that canister from Brodny."

"Canister?" Steed's eyes became alert.

"Yes," she said casually. "I think it was some type of gas."

Steed nodded. It was even more imperative that he get an air sample to Herbert.

Rita Fox was waiting for them outside the dining hall.

"Ah! Just in time," she greeted them without formality. "I was checking the dining room, and noticed something unusual about the kitchen: it's empty!"

Emma nodded. "The food is being catered in. Apparently the Provost wasn't happy with the quality of the cafeteria fare."

"Thank goodness! I thought we were going to have to put on aprons and prepare some chow ourselves."

"I'll stand guard out here," Steed offered.

Rita seemed confused at his choice of words. "Emma and I are going to check out the sound system." The two women vanished through the doors.

A few seconds later, Steed noticed Marina approaching with the young, dark-haired agent, Tara. Just in case the drug hadn't worn off yet, he ducked around a corner. The last thing he needed was to be pinned again by the exuberant Miss King.

As a result, Steed didn't see Ambassador Brodny as he sneaked past.

-oOo-

Brodny had been sent on ahead to make sure Steed wasn't lurking about before Pehlovich entered. The only remaining task in the mission was to question the lovely Mrs. Peel. The ambassador knew that if he could just get her alone and expose her to the gas, then he could be rid of his obligations—to Gogol and the KGB, and to the slippery Squadron Leader Peel. This Pehlovich character was a tricky and dangerous man, very much like John Steed, Brodny thought.

Steed was nowhere in sight when Brodny slipped quietly into the main building. As he approached the dining hall, he overheard the voice of Mrs. Peel. Now was his chance! He pulled the stainless-steel cylinder out of his jacket and rushed into the room.

He had hoped to find her alone. Instead, the room contained not only her, but three other women—a blonde, a redhead, and a brunette. Realization dawned on him—these were all the women from the Spy School! Mrs. Peel had just asked the blonde swimmer to introduce her to the dark-haired rookie agent.

All four women turned to stare at him simultaneously.

Emma folded her arms. "Ambassador Brodny!"

Tara narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Brodny..."

Rita didn't know the name. "Brodny?"

Marina firmly set her jaw. "Comrade."

Brodny looked around in a panic, then did the only thing he could think of. He twisted the valve wide open and released all of the remaining gas from his canister. It would wipe their memories of everything that had happened in the past few minutes. As he dashed out into the hallway, he came face-to-face with John Steed.

"Ambassador Brodny," Steed said jovially. "Back for another try at Mrs. Peel?" He started to push past the nervous diplomat.

"Steed!" Brodny cautioned. "Believe me when I tell you, you must not go in there!"

"If you've hurt her, I'll—" Steed's eyes were ablaze. Brodny turned and fled. As Steed entered the dining hall, he saw all four women lined up in a row, unharmed.

Emma licked her lips. "Steed," she purred sexily.

Tara's eyes lit up. "Steed!" she called out in adoration.

Rita removed her cloisonné clips and let her red locks cascade around her shoulders. "Steed...," she said dreamily.

Marina loosened her top button. "_Dushenika,_" she crooned.

Steed grinned cockily and tipped his hat. "Ladies." He started to back slowly away.

Brodny must have drugged them all, Steed thought. And while he knew he might be able to get the better of Rita or Marina in a physical confrontation, Mrs. Peel and Miss King had training that would allow them to overpower him quickly if they acted in concert.

The women sprang into action, fanning out to surround him before he could make his exit. Tara blocked the door to the hallway while Emma blocked the entrance to the kitchen. The other two women moved into flanking positions.

"Don't let him get away, girls," Tara called out resolutely. "If what I've heard is true, there's enough of him to go around."

Steed darted to avoid their attempts to snare him. "I think you overestimate my stamina," he called out.

"Don't listen to him," Rita said smugly. "I know all about his stamina. He's got more than enough."

"Get some of his clothes off," Emma advised. "He won't dare leave the room unless he's dressed as a proper English gentleman. He'll be trapped."

"Please, _Dushka,_" Marina pleaded. "Do not resist us."

The women tightened their circle around him, like wolves closing in on their prey, each one occupying a point of the compass.

"Make your choice, Steed," Rita ordered. "You can't escape us all."

Steed looked at Emma. As the only one who had been married, she might be less aggressive in her attentions than the single women. And in a scuffle, her physical skills would be the most likely to keep the others at bay. He moved to her side as the circle collapsed.

"I always knew it would be me," Emma said. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly. The other women crowded near, watching with interest.

Suddenly, Tara grabbed Steed's arm and pulled him away. She turned to Emma with a smirk.

"That's not how you kiss a man, if you want him to remember it," Tara advised smugly. "You do it like this." She rubbed her body against Steed's, slipped her arms under his shoulders, and pulled him into an impenetrable embrace as she locked her mouth over his. Steed reeled from the intense contact.

"But that's not how Steed likes it," Rita argued. "I'm the only one with practical experience in this area. You need to be gentle." Rita pushed Tara away and pulled Steed into a light kiss, chucking him beneath the chin with her fingertip.

Marina pulled Rita away brashly. "No, no, no!" she corrected. "You must be more passionate! In Russia, we have a saying, 'Sensual lust must stir a tempest in your blood'..."

"That's Dostoevsky," Rita tossed in. "From _The Brothers Karamazov,_ published in 1880—"

"Shut up!" Tara and Emma chimed in unison.

Marina threw her arms around Steed and leaped onto him, locking her legs around his waist as she pressed her lips to his. He staggered under her weight.

"How was that, Comrade Steed?" she beamed.

Steed's head was spinning. How long did the drug last? He tried to calculate how many minutes passed between Mrs. Peel's exposure in the Chemistry Building and when she hit him in the jaw...

"I was the best," Tara gloated.

Emma gave a derisive snort. "You kissed him like a teenager on her first date," she said haughtily.

"I _am_ a teenager," Tara fired back defensively.

"You're not even _twenty_ yet?" Rita asked. "And you want me to take your advice at the Spy School?"

But Tara and Emma had already prepared for battle. Each struck a martial pose as they started circling.

Steed hoped they wouldn't hurt each other, but it was every man for himself. This distraction might be his only chance. He lurched for the kitchen. Rita and Marina were a step too slow as he pushed through the double doors, then held them shut behind him.

"He's getting away!" Tara shouted. She patted Emma on the shoulder and they both ran to join the other two women in throwing their weight against the doors. They banged their fists in frustration.

"Come back, Steed!" the four women shouted in unison. "We love you!"

Steed had wedged his feet against the bottoms of the doors, and was using his shoulder to brace his position, when he heard a nearby feminine voice call out, "Ian?"

Then he felt the surge as the four women threw their bodies against the double doors. Their strength threatened to overwhelm him. A girl appeared at his side, saw his predicament, and aided him by slipping a broomstick through the door handles. Steed loosened his grip and slumped to the floor in exhaustion.

After he had regained his breath, he looked up at the young woman who stood over him. She had the longest, most perfect legs he had ever seen. Calves, quadriceps, all exquisitely defined, leading into some pink denim hot pants. Farther on up, her tank top was punctuated by pert breasts, and from the top of her head a long blonde ponytail flowed over her right shoulder. She barely looked twenty.

"I'm looking for my cousin, Ian," she said reasonably. "He's a student here. He usually works in this kitchen."

"Don't tell me," Steed said. "You love me. You can't resist me."

The girl wrinkled her mouth. "What are you, some kind of pervert? You're old enough to be my father."

Steed grinned. "Thank heavens for that. You haven't been affected." He straightened his clothes and grabbed a glass jar from the counter. Steed knelt by the doors and felt a cool draft of air coming from the crack between them. He collected his sample and tightly screwed the lid down.

The girl was staring at him with her impudent nose and full, sensuous lips. "Are all those women after you?" she asked.

"I'm a very popular man," he smiled.

"What did you do, knock them up and leave them in a lurch?" she laughed earthily.

Steed showed the jar to her. "I need to get over to the Chemistry Building right away."

"You're in a hurry?"

"It's possible that the sample I took may break down over time."

"Would you like a lift?" she said smartly. "My bike's outside."

"Aren't you a little old to tote me on your handlebars?"

"Vroom vroom," she said.

"A motorbike," Steed beamed. "Why didn't you say so?"

She flashed the crest of her leather jacket to him, an emblem of a rearing lion. "We're the Lion Hearts."

As they walked out the door together, she sniffed at the air in the kitchen.

-oOo-

The two younger women, Marina and Tara, came to their senses first. Neither one noticed Rita or Emma as they sat with their backs to the double doors that led to the kitchen.

"What happened?" Tara asked.

"I can't remember anything," Marina said groggily. "Wait—I seem to recall seeing one of my countrymen. He must have been working with The Ladja!"

Tara nodded. "He must have drugged us to make good his escape," she reasoned. "If we can catch up to him, we can track him directly to The Ladja!"

The two women jumped up and ran out of the dining hall.

Emma shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She saw the red-auburn furl of Rita's hair next to her. She gently shook her co-author by the shoulder.

"Are you all right, Rita?"

"I seemed to have blacked out for a moment," Rita said dazedly. "I hope the caterers get here soon. I must be getting hunger pangs."

"No," Emma said resolutely. "We were drugged. By the Russian Ambassador, Brodny. He was after me. And now I'm going to be after him." She stood and made as if to head out the door.

"Our lecture!" Rita reminded her. "The audience should be arriving any minute."

Sure enough, several of the long-haired medical students were now filing into the dining room. On seeing their two idols in a state of distress, they rushed to give aid and comfort to the women, carrying them bodily to a nearby table to minister to their needs.

-oOo-

Steed was astride the back of a lightweight Honda motorcycle speeding towards the Chemistry Building. The blonde ponytail of the young girl driver was whipping in his face. He turned away to avoid the lashing.

"Don't like the hair?" she asked.

"It could stand to be a bit shorter," he shouted over the wind noise as he held his hat on with one hand.

"Then perhaps I'll cut it."

Steed's other arm was wrapped around her waist. She interlaced her fingers with his hand, moving it up across her chest towards her breasts. Steed quickly moved it away again. The engine changed pitch as the motorbike slowed.

"Why are you pulling over?" he asked. It was vital that he get to Herbert's lab. "The Chemistry Building's just over there."

The girl dismounted the bike and looked directly into his eyes with a wicked grin.

"Oh no," Steed said. "Not you, too."

She licked her lips. "You're starting to grow on me, Mr. Steed."

"Just Steed. How did you know my name?"

"That's what all those women were calling you back there. Do you want to know my name?"

"When we get to the Chemistry Building, you can tell me your whole life story."

"Purdey," she smiled. "Just Purdey."

He needed to distract her, to get free. Perhaps he could start an argument. "You can't spend all your time on a motorbike, Purdey. You need to think about the future."

"I'm going to be a professional ballet dancer at night," she announced, "and make love to you all day."

"You don't know anything about me." Steed started to back away, but a brick wall barred his path.

"All those women, you must be a rock star," she said wryly. "Though why you're dressed like a bureaucrat, I can't fathom."

"Would it help if I mentioned that this sample is a matter of National Security?"

"Don't tell me," she said with a mischievous grin. "You're some sort of secret agent, aren't you?"

"Not exactly," Steed said. He lurched along the wall as if to make his escape, but Purdey trapped him, forcing him to straddle her knee as she pinned him into immobility.

"It doesn't matter." She ran her hands over his chest and pressed her mouth to his. "I'll still love you anyway." She kissed him deeply.

"Look, Purdey, you're under the influence of some type of drug," Steed said reasonably.

She snickered, "It wouldn't be the first time." Purdey kissed him again.

Steed saw another young girl walk past—a student, in a pink sweater. He briefly considered calling for help, but then a more effective plan came to mind—if he read this Purdey right. The bike tough was busy unbuckling his belt when Steed glanced over her left shoulder.

"You don't happen to know any rival bike gangs, do you?"

Purdey stopped working on his belt to stare at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a girl over there in pink, with an embroidered tiger. Couldn't be a gang called the Pink Tigers? Enemies of the Lion Hearts?" Steed offered glibly.

Purdey continued her efforts to remove his trousers, though a look of combativeness crossed her face.

"I only ask, because she showed an extraordinary interest in your bike," Steed continued casually. "And she was certainly sizing me up like a piece of London broil..."

Purdey's territorial instincts finally took over. She whirled on the passing girl and accosted her. "You stay away!" she shouted. "He's mine!"

The frightened passerby took a few steps back. Steed watched Purdey's boots. Just one more step...

She took it. Steed darted into action, heading directly for the motorcycle. He kicked the starter and pulled away, just inches from Purdey's grasp. Perhaps if she had lunged, she could have caught him; but something in the drug may have held her back for fear of hurting him.

-oOo-

Steed rushed up the stairs to the third floor of the Chemistry Building. He displayed the jar to Dr. Fredrickson as he strolled into the lab.

"I have something for you to analyze, Herbert. A love potion."

The chemical engineer held the jar up to the light. "You think the gas is in here?"

Steed nodded. "Be careful when you open that. Make sure there are no women near."

"Not even Rita?"

"Especially Rita, if you want to get any work done."

"I don't need to open the jar. I can do a spectrographic analysis by applying a vacuum and pulling a trace amount out through the threads."

Steed took up a position near the door. "I'll loiter about in the hall until you're finished, just to be safe. If there's nothing in that jar, I'll have to resign myself to a monastery."

-oOo-

Steed was speeding back across campus on the motorbike with Herbert's analysis safely tucked away in his pocket. He drove back to the wall where he had abandoned Purdey. She was sitting in the ground, looking dazed. Steed grinned. She certainly had a fire about her. Maybe she would be interested in the Spy School one day.

Purdey's eyes flashed at him. "What are you doing with my bike?"

Steed smiled broadly. "You were giving me a lift, don't you remember?"

Purdey looked puzzled. "I was? Where to?"

"The main Administration Building. I'm attending a lecture there at noon." He checked his watch. "Heavens, I'm an hour late."

"I need to get over there as well," she declared. "My cousin, Ian, works in the cafeteria kitchen." Her expression was still confused. "How did I wind up on the ground?"

"You got dizzy and said you wanted to sit down for a moment. Are you feeling better?"

She smiled effusively. "Yes, much."

"Well then, hop on. I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about driving a motorbike," Steed said glibly. "I thought about going to fetch help for you, but I don't understand the controls."

"That's all right. I'm fine now." She mounted the seat in front of him as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

-oOo-

Emma and Rita were once again the center of attention after the conclusion of their speeches. Emma scanned the crowd looking for any sign of Steed. Suddenly, she saw a familiar balding head.

She worked her way through the mass of students and professors. The ambassador caught sight of her and turned to run, but it was too late. Emma chased him down into the corridor and trapped him against the wall, pinning him with her forearm across his throat.

"Now it's time for _you_ to answer some questions, Ambassador," she ordered.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Peel," Brodny whined. "But they made me do it! Siberia is very cold."

"So you admit to having gassed me twice today, and once yesterday."

"Well, yes, but—"

"Did you get the answers to the questions you wanted to ask me?" Emma continued harshly.

"Well, no—," he began.

"That's because I didn't know anything," she finished for him. "Just because I hang around with Steed doesn't mean I know all of his Ministry secrets. In fact, I usually prefer that he keeps them to himself."

"Of course, Mrs. Peel. Believe me, I would have never have exposed you to anything harmful—"

"You will never expose me to _anything_, ever again," she said fiercely, grasping his throat with her hands. "Do you understand?"

Brodny shut his eyes tight, expecting an ignominious death. Instead, Mrs. Peel let go of his neck. He breathed a sigh of relief. She looked straight into his eyes.

"Because if there ever is a next time," Emma said sternly, "You won't enjoy diplomatic immunity."

-oOo-


	6. Mother

**Chapter 6**

Steed frowned. Herbert's analysis was cryptic. The gas was some sort of polyoxide compound that functioned in a manner similar to laughing gas when used as an anesthetic: it caused uninhibited behavior and a loss of memory during the time of exposure. That was some comfort; at least none of the women would remember enough to be permanently ashamed of their actions. Unfortunately, Herbert had no suggestions on how to counteract the gas other than "black out a few of your teeth and mess up your hair." With the strong sexual drives of Emma, Rita, Marina, Tara, and Purdey, Steed didn't even think that ruining his appearance would be enough to dissuade them.

Two women were approaching him in the main Administration Building. He saw the locks of red-auburn hair and a blonde pixie-cut before he dived towards the nearest closet. Just his luck, the door was locked. He backed into a corner, trying to formulate a strategy for escape. Rita was the weaker of the two, so he could get past her the easiest. She looked at him quizzically as she approached, and suddenly Steed could tell that she wasn't drugged.

"Why are you running from us?" she asked.

"I thought you were someone else," he answered smoothly. "There seems to be a rash of Russians today."

Marina nodded in agreement. "The Ladja attacked me earlier," she declared.

"Did you manage to fight him off?" Steed asked.

"Yes," Marina said. "He was not a cricket player."

Steed looked puzzled until Rita patted her groin. "No protection," she said.

"Heavens, Mrs. Peel's done that to him twice as well," he said glibly. "Eventually, we won't need Marina to identify The Ladja; we'll just look for a man who walks funny."

"Why do you think he was here?" Rita asked.

"It appears he might be testing some new drug," Steed answered. "I had Herbert analyze a sample."

"You mean Freddie," Rita teased slyly.

"The KGB might have been using the gas to obtain information," he continued. "There's something going on in Swansea they could be interested in."

Rita nodded knowingly. "The Spy School."

Steed arched his eyebrow in surprise. "How did you know?"

"We're going to be teachers," Marina boasted.

"Oh?"

Rita nodded again. "There's someone here you need to talk to."

Steed guessed her intent and smiled.

"I've always wanted to meet Mother," he said.

-oOo-

Rhonda pushed the wheelchair to meet Steed as he entered the warehouse that Rita had identified as the "Spy School." The bulky figure in the chair vigorously rapped his cane on the floor in greeting.

"Hello, John," Mother said.

"Sorry to hear about your accident."

"When a door shuts, a window opens," he said casually.

Steed shook his hand and grinned. "Only if you live in a drafty house." Rhonda took a step back to give the two some privacy. Steed sat down on a nearby bench.

"So you're 'Mother'?"

He nodded. "As in 'hen'. No more field work for me."

"You're not exactly behind a desk now," Steed observed wryly.

"Indeed. It seems that the excitement has followed me out here."

Steed nodded. "Marina Irinova said The Ladja was here."

"We had intelligence that indicated that," Mother said, "so I have no reason to doubt her word."

"If he's a double agent, working in the Ministry..."

Mother wheeled his chair closer. "The higher-ups don't seem too concerned about finding out his identity. Besides, they showed Marina pictures of every agent on the active duty roster, and she insisted The Ladja wasn't any of them. So perhaps he isn't a double agent, after all. Just a KGB mastermind."

"Not an active agent for our side, eh?" Steed repeated. "He's been testing some kind of gas here."

Mother looked puzzled. "A chemical weapon?"

"This is the molecular formula," Steed said, handing him the sheet that contained Herbert's analysis. "You should get it to our labs right away."

A wicked grin crossed Mother's face. "No need," he said as he handed the paper back to Steed. "I recognize this compound. It's a substance called 'Aphrodisiox'."

"Afro what?"

"Aphrodisiox. Increases the libido, decreases the inhibitions, causes short term memory loss," Mother said matter-of-factly. "Only works on women, though."

"How do you know so much about it?"

"We developed it. Are you saying that one of the women here has been exposed to it?"

"_All_ of the women here have been exposed to it," Steed said evenly.

"Oh, dear. Am I to take it that you were the closest object of their affection?"

"More often than not."

Mother nodded. "What women here do you know to have been exposed?"

"Mrs. Peel, a young trainee named Miss King, Dr. Fox, Miss Irinova, and a bystander, a bike tough named Purdey."

"I assume you have Mrs. Peel under control?"

"Yes," Steed replied.

"Tara won't even remember meeting you. Play it that way if you ever see her again, John."

"What for?"

"Wouldn't want to shake her confidence. She'd die of humiliation. Tara worships you, you know, even without the gas."

Steed grinned. "Just as long as she doesn't make the same weak joke about her name the next time we meet."

"You probably won't even recognize her a year or two from now," Mother offered. "She'll be a skilled, confident, well-trained agent; deadly and beautiful."

"I'm sure you're right. Rita and Marina said something about being teachers?"

"Dr. Fox would never agree to be part of this if she thought she was a student. So I've convinced them that we need them to teach Russian, which we do. Otherwise, I think they'll find they're on the learning end, once I bring in a martial arts instructor and a weapons expert."

Steed shook his head with a smile. "Out here in Swansea, running a school for wayward girls..."

"Just a stepping stone, Steed," Mother said with a grin. "Who knows? I may be in charge of you one day."

-oOo-

The sun was setting in the late afternoon as the Bentley headed back down the M4 towards London. Emma yawned. It had been a demanding day.

"I've taken care of Brodny," she said casually.

Steed smiled without taking his eyes off the road. "You're a formidable woman, Mrs. Peel."

"I like to think so. You were right about him testing some kind of drug."

"I'm sure it was against his will," Steed offered. "He really doesn't have the backbone for that sort of thing. Any idea who was pulling the strings?"

Emma shrugged. "Must have been the KGB."

_Probably best that she doesn't know The Ladja was here,_ thought Steed. _With her personal animosity towards him, she'd insist we stay for another week to mount a manhunt._

"Sorry to drag you out here," she added. "I know it must have been a very boring time for you."

Steed suppressed a smile. "It had its interesting moments."

Emma shifted in her seat and her elbow knocked over Steed's tote, spilling some of its contents onto the floorboard. As she was scooping them back into the satchel, she noticed the glass jar.

"What is this for?" she asked.

"It was a sample for Herbert."

"Really? What's in here?" Emma unscrewed the lid.

"Mrs. Peel—no!"

"It's empty." She stuck her nose in the jar and sniffed. "Why are you carrying an empty jar?"

Steed shook his head in surrender and threw his arm over the back of the car seat. A wicked smile came to Emma's face and her eyes lit up. She scooted over next to him and nestled in the crook of his arm. As she started kissing his cheek and nibbling on his earlobe, Steed gave her forearm an affectionate squeeze.

"Mmm...," she said lazily. "Why are you driving so slow?"

Steed smiled.

"I'm anticipating plenty of distractions on the drive back to London."

-oOo-


End file.
